


Child's Play

by Halosydne



Series: Clint Barton One Shots [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton had a bad start in life, Clint Barton-centric, Interrogation, Marvel Comics - Freeform, Murder, No happy ending here, Slight Canon Divergence, So much angst, Torture, Trickshot is a dick, fraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halosydne/pseuds/Halosydne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint stared blankly as he aimed the gun. He didn’t want to kill a man, he didn’t want to. But… then again, he had never wanted to hurt anyone, but that was before he’d started hurting them. He'd never wanted to pick up a bow and arrow in the first place. He'd never wanted to have to fight. He was just a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child's Play

“Go on. Go on. It’s easy, really.” 

The soft voice of his mentor reached his ear echoing slightly in the old, darkened warehouse. The words wound their way into his head as he considered them, toyed with them. It would be easy, really. His vision narrowed, eyes locking onto the man in front of him.

The man was tied to a chair, head lolling, as he no longer had the strength to hold it up. He was beaten, and bruised, and blood trickled down his forehead, mixing with sweat. A coppery smell hung in the air, coming from the blood that was pooling on the floor. The man wasn’t moving much, really, except for the regular rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in.

And out.

In.

And out.

Clint found his own breathing starting to match that of the man in the chair. Clint’s breaths, however, were shaky, his throat dry, compared to the calm, resigned breathing of the man in the chair. He was a tough one, a brave one... Or maybe he was just senseless after the beating he'd taken. It wasn’t right, really – Clint shouldn’t be the one shaking. He wasn’t hurt. Apart from his knuckles, of course, which were bloodied and bruised and swollen where he had punched the man in the chair, on the orders of his mentor, where had punched the man again.

And again

And  
Again.

Clint was a good kid, he was told. He listened to Trickshot, and for that, he was a 'good kid'. Clint might be young, but he knew that this was a lie. He wasn't a good kid, because good people didn't beat other people up. But then again, he'd never been a good kid - not according to the foster families that he had been with, and that was way before he'd starting beating people up. That had been back when he tried, when he never got anything right. He got things right now. This... he was good at. He was good at archery and he was good at fighting and he was good at punching people. If he hadn't been so good, Trickshot wouldn't have saved his life.

So... Maybe it wasn't that much of a lie. He was good at this, and it was kind of fun. After a certain point, he stopped listening to the questions his mentor had been asking the man. They were repetitive, and he didn't get answers at first... He did, soon enough though, once he pressed a sharp arrow into Clint's hand and told him to make use of it.

It didn't work too well at first, with Clint's hand's shaking, and not being able to push the arrow hard enough to properly slice through the muscle.

It wasn't too long until he learnt how though... another thing he was good at, he supposed, and over the screaming, he had a chance to feel proud.

Soon enough though, Trickshot took his hand, taking the arrow back. They didn't need it anymore - the man had started talking. Clint didn't really understand what they were talking about... and if he was honest, he didn't really care. Trickshot had his hand rested on Clint's shoulder, the weight and warmth of it stifling any doubts Clint may have had about what he had just done. This was the closest thing Clint had ever had to a father's touch. He wasn't Trickshot's child, but he was his prodigy. His protégé... and maybe that was just as good.  
A wide grin - all teeth - like a shark, and the defeated sigh of the other man signaled that their talk was over – Clint understood that, had seen this many a time before. This time, though, it was different. Because rather than untying the man, sending him back to his friends with a message, a warning… Trickshot pressed a pistol into Clint hand.

“Go on.” He said, wrapping Clint’s hand around the grip.

“Go on.” He said, moving Clint’s finger onto the trigger.

“It’s easy really." He said, stepping back, "Killing a man. All it takes… is just… one… little… push.”

Clint stared blankly as he aimed the gun. He didn’t want to kill a man, he didn’t want to. But… then again, he had never wanted to hurt anyone, but that was before he’d started hurting them. He'd never wanted to pick up a bow and arrow in the first place. He'd never wanted to have to fight. He was just a child.

He steadied his hand. Just one... little... push...

 

 

BANG.

 

Clint Barton wasn't just a child any more. But he thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd found another thing he was good at.

**Author's Note:**

> First time I've ever tried to write a younger Clint Barton. Please give me feedback!


End file.
